


Coffee Shop Stydia

by Rachel_Carter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Barista Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Family Abuse, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Lydia, Physical Abuse, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:12:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8260663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel_Carter/pseuds/Rachel_Carter
Summary: A Teen Wolf AU in which Lydia is being abused by her father and her mother is in denial. She seeks refuge in a coffee shop where Stiles Stilinski - an old friend - works.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my first ever fanfic, so I thought I would start with a really basic Stydia oneshot. It's an AU, so I made so stuff up about families, etc. It's kinda stereotypical, but I thought that would be a good place to start. Please comment, I'd really appreciate feedback or story ideas!

Lydia burst into the coffee shop in a flurry of coats and scarves, nearly tripping over her nude heels in her haste. A rush of cold wind and rain followed her in before she slammed the door against the harsh weather. Straightening her shoulders, she huffed, and went to line up at the counter.  
She’d been on her way to the library to study when the storm had set in, and the coffee shop had been the first store that was open. Allison was waiting for her, and she sent off a quick text to let her know that she’d be late.  
The coffee shop was warm and inviting, with mismatched furniture and cosy yellow lighting. A bookshelf lined one of the walls, filled with worn novels of all sizes and genres. Windows looked out to the street that was now abandoned, and there were a few customers seated, gazing out and eating pastries, or having hushed conversations over steaming mugs. Above the counter was a chalkboard sign, which detailed the drinks on offer and the specials of the day. Lydia glanced up for only a few seconds before deciding to simply order her usual while she waited for the rain to clear.   
Stepping up to the counter, Lydia brushed her curls out of her face and said, “I’ll have a medium black with three sugars to go.”  
The boy at the counter smiled. He had short dark hair and large eyes that offset his fair complexion. His smile was friendly, inviting. The nametag on his apron read ‘Stiles’.  
“Sure, Lydia,” he replied.  
She tilted her head slightly. “How do you know my name?”  
The boy laughed softly to himself. Lydia got the feeling he was laughing at her.  
“Did I say something funny?” she asked, not harshly, but not entirely joking. Lydia rarely felt as though she was the butt of a joke. It was disconcerting.  
“No, it’s nothing,” the boy – Stiles – replied. He turned to make her coffee, but she could tell he was still laughing to himself.  
Lydia shook herself and decided to let it go. She looked out of the windows and noticed that the rain had begun to clear up. She’d be able to make her way to the library after she got her coffee.  
Stiles called her name, snapping her attention from the window back to him. “Here’s your coffee. And your receipt.” He smiled at her – slightly sadly? – as she took them. Turning, she walked out of the warm coffee shop into the wind that was mercifully rain-free. Her heels clicking on the sidewalk, she went to crush the receipt to throw it out, but she noticed there was writing on it. She stopped, and opened it fully. It read: ‘We’ve gone to the same school since pre-primary’.  
Lydia flushed. So that’s why he’d been laughing. She looked back into the coffee shop, and Stiles was looking at her. He winked, then went back to wiping down the counter. There was a slight droop to his shoulders, a tilt to his head that indicated sadness. Lydia tuned away and crushed the receipt in her hand, the foreign emotion of guilt hitting her. How could she forget Stiles Stilinski? He’d been her friend once, and then… they’d drifted.   
Throwing the receipt in the nearest bin, Lydia shook herself and walked, coffee in hand, to the library.

“Stop yelling,” Lydia’s mother begged. She stood with her back against the kitchen bench, her beautiful but aged face contorted with fear.  
Lydia stood in the living room, pressed against a wall, praying that her father would back down. Every night the house filled with screaming, until one of the left the house to go to a bar or a club. Empty bottles of gin cluttered the coffee table, and the smell of cigarettes filled the spacious house. Closing her eyes tight, Lydia forced her mind off her current situation. She should really go back to that coffee shop and apologise to Stiles, although she wasn’t accustomed to apologies, but he had been nice to her in third grade, and that coffee was really good…   
The sound of shattering glass burst through Lydia’s reverie, and she opened her eyes and spun around, staring into the kitchen. Her mother was cowering under the bench, a small line of blood across her hairline, and she gingerly pulled out a shard of glass, her mouth gaping in disbelief. Her father stood over her, half a bottle in his meaty fist. Lydia ran in, pulling her mother up and stepping in front of her, heart pounding.   
“Dad, stop!” she shouted, her voice breaking. Her father didn’t back down.  
“Get out of here, Lydia.”  
“Don’t hurt her dad, please,” Lydia pleaded, “just-just sit down, I’ll get you a drink-”  
“I said get out!” he roared, and suddenly there was a burning pain across Lydia’s cheek and her head slammed into the bench and she hit the floor. Dazed, she tried to stand, but the pain in her cheek and jaw made her dizzy. Her ears were ringing. As if in a dream, she put her hand to her lip and then drew it back. There was blood on her fingers.   
Her father had hit her.  
She looked up slowly. Her father had his back to her, and was walking into the living room. Shaking, Lydia stood, and helped her mother up. Her mother shook her off.  
“You shouldn’t have gotten involved.” There was no emotion in her voice.  
Without a word, Lydia walked out of the kitchen, up the stairs to her bedroom.

The next morning, Lydia got up early to put extra care into her makeup. After showering and dressing in a floral skirt and white top, she sat by her dresser, looking at the ugly purple bruise on her jaw. She grabbed her concealer, foundation, and blush, and went to work. By the time she was done, there was nothing but a faintly darker spot on her face, nothing that couldn’t be chalked up to a shadow or a graphite smudge. Everyone knew Lydia liked to draw. It wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination.  
Grabbing her keys, phone, and purse, Lydia left the house before her parents got up for breakfast. She didn’t have anywhere to go, but she’d rather wander aimlessly than face her family. After taking several turns and exiting several shops, Lydia found herself outside the coffee shop she’d been in the previous day. She hesitated at the door before deciding to get breakfast. She hadn’t eaten at home in her haste to leave the house, and she was starting to feel a little lightheaded. Besides, if she ran into Stiles, she might be able to apologise for not remembering him. It seemed so insignificant now.  
Lydia entered, the little bell at the door tinkling softly. She looked to the counter, and sure enough, there was Stiles, his back facing her as he made coffee. Lydia smiled to herself.  
She walked up as he turned to face her. A smile broke out as he saw her, and put the coffee down on the counter.   
“So, you’re back. What can I get you?” He asked.  
Lydia flushed softly, and wasn’t entirely sure why. “Um, I’ll have a blueberry muffin please. And a black coffee –“  
Stiles cut her off. “Three sugars, right? Gotcha.”  
Lydia smiled, touched that he had remembered her order. “Yeah. And also, I’d – I’d like to apologise.” Did she just stutter? Lydia Martin did not stutter.   
Stiles was smiling openly now. “Oh yeah? What for?”  
She looked him in the eye. “We’ve known each other for a very long time, and I’m sorry that I forgot who you were yesterday. I… wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”   
“An apology from Lydia Martin. I should celebrate,” Stiles teased. Lydia blushed and looked down.  
“Well, I should have remembered you,” she said.  
Stiles grinned and waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. Seriously.” He turned to make her coffee. Speaking up a bit to be heard over the sound of the coffee machine, Stiles said, “You know, I haven’t seen you in here very much. You live pretty far away. Any reason you were in the area?”  
Lydia mentally filed the fact that Stiles knew where she lived – not too surprising, given they had been friends, but still notable. “Well, yesterday I was on my way to the library to study and I got caught in the rain. And today I-” Lydia broke off. Today she had been desperately avoiding going home to the place where her father had hit her and her mother had defended him.   
Stiles turned back around, coffee in hand. “You…?”  
Flustered, Lydia tried to finish. “I – uh, I remembered the, um, the coffee here is really good, and I was really wanting some coffee.”  
Stiles looked at her, his brow slightly crinkled. He was yet to relinquish her coffee. “Are you okay, Lydia? You seem a little… off.”  
She fidgeted under his gaze. “I’m fine.” She mustered a smile.  
Stiles looked unconvinced, but finally handed over the steaming cup. “Thanks,” she said, reaching for her purse.  
“Don’t worry about it, it’s on me.”  
Lydia looked up. “What?”  
Stiles gave her a wry smile. “It’s not every day that you get an apology from Lydia Martin. This is me celebrating.”  
Lydia smiled, genuinely this time, as she took the coffee. “Thanks, Stiles.”  
He saluted her jokingly, and she went to find a table to enjoy her drink.

Over the following weeks, Lydia found herself, for one reason or another, in that little coffee shop. Things in her house were getting progressively worse, and the shop had become something of a refuge for her. Allison was away, what with school holidays having started, and Lydia would use any excuse to get out of the house. To Lydia’s shock, her father’s violence had worsened, as had her mother’s denial. It wasn’t uncommon for Lydia to be up in the middle of the night, blasting music through her headphones to drown out the shouting in the living room.   
That night, the fight had been particularly bad. Lydia hadn’t slept at all, and when she came out of her room at four in the morning, smashed glass had littered the floor. She tiptoed to the door, hoping to leave without being noticed, but her father was standing in the kitchen next to what appeared to be the only whole bottle of gin left in the house. Lydia froze as he spotted her.  
“Where the hell are you going?” He asked, and she knew she’d caught him at a bad time. He’d clearly been up all night, drinking his way through a hangover. He was red in the face, and a vein bulged in his forehead. Lydia couldn’t recognise the man who had helped her first ride a bike.  
“I was going to get coffee,” she whispered.  
“Sure you were, you little slut. Who’s the guy?”  
“I’m not seeing anyone. I really just wanted to get-”   
Her father snapped. “You filthy whore! Look at you, parading around at four am, fucking your way through the neighbourhood. You are disgracing this family! You’re a fucking disappointment, that’s what you are. You, with your fucking expensive school and your clothes-” His words began to slur. “Wasting your time sleeping around while I pay the bills. I never wanted a child anyway, you stupid bitch. Get out. Just get the fuck out!” he’d begun walking toward her, and on the last word, he grabbed her by the throat and shoved her against the wall. He came in close, and his breath was heavy with alcohol. “You’re a filthy little slut just like your mother.” Then he slammed his fist into her face. Lydia’s head knocked back against the wall, and she cried out, her vision exploding with pain. Her father turned around, and before she could let the damage register, she ran for her bag, fumbling with her keys before unlocking the door and rushing out into the early morning.

Conditioning from the past weeks of walking led Lydia along the path to the coffee shop, but she was so stunned that she didn’t recognise where she was going. Her head throbbed and her vision seemed blurry. She’d touched her face with shaking hands, and when they’d come back bloody, she’d refused to look.   
When she’d reached the corner that turned into the coffee shop, Lydia finally came to her senses. She couldn’t go to the shop looking like this, people would ask questions, child protection would be called, she’d go to a foster family… Ducking down an alley, she took her compact out of her purse with trembling fingers. She opened it in a rush, hoping the damage wasn’t too bad.  
It was bad. The left side of her face was red and just beginning to swell. It was tinged purple, and a line of blood ran along her cheekbone, probably from his wedding ring. Her lip was split, and a fine trickle of blood dripped to her chin.  
Lydia took the makeup out of her purse and went to work covering it up as best she could. Her foundation covered the bruising fairly well, as along with the cut. Her lip was harder to hide, and after wincing away from her lipstick, she gave up and put her compact and makeup back in her bag. She was presentable, if not reaching her usual standard of beauty. She finally walked out of the alley, fixing her hair to cover the growing lump on the back of her head.  
The bell tinkled as Lydia entered the coffee shop. She was the only customer – unsurprising, given the early time. The lights were bright and cheery against the grey morning. The whole place seemed safe and comforting. It was disconcerting to Lydia.  
Despite the early hour and the lack of customers, there, standing behind the counter, was Stiles. He had a coffee in one hand – likely without paying for it – and a rag in the other, and he was leaning against the wall. When he heard Lydia enter, he straightened and looked up. A smile broke across his face.  
“You’re early,” he stated.  
Lydia managed a weak smile. “Yeah. Um, couldn’t sleep. I didn’t know you worked this shift.” A question, sort of.  
Stiles chucked the rag onto the counter and turned to the coffee machine behind him. “Yeah, it’s not idea, but it pays extra. What with it being so ridiculously early and all.”  
Lydia nodded, despite the fact that he had his back turned and couldn’t see her. He spun to face her, another cup in his hand. He handed it to her. She took it gratefully, then paused. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I don’t have any money on me.”  
Stiles flicked his hand. “Don’t worry, it’s on me.”  
Lydia shook her head, fumbling with her purse. She’d forgotten her wallet at home in her rush to get out of the house. “No, no, you don’t have to do that. I don’t know what I was thinking-” Stiles walked around the counter, his brow furrowed.   
“Hey, it’s okay Lydia. If you’re really worried about it, no one has to pay. I mean, it’s not like I payed for mine,” said. “Lydia, what’s wrong?”  
Her hands were shaking in her purse. She looked up at Stiles. “Nothing! I’m fine, really. I just… you shouldn’t have to pay is all.”  
Stiles took her face in his hands. She made no move to stop him. “Lydia, what’s that?”  
She pulled back, turning away from him. “What’s what?”  
He tried to take her shoulder but she backed away. “Lydia, on your face. Is that a bruise?”   
“It’s nothing, I’m fine.”  
“Lydia-” He moved towards her quickly and she flinched away. He went still.  
“Did you think I was going to hurt you?” He whispered, tears coming to his eyes. “Lydia, I would never hurt you.”  
Lydia shook her head. “I’m fine.”  
“Lydia, did someone else hurt you?”  
Tears slipped onto her cheeks, and she wiped them away viciously. Stiles stared. Lydia realised, too late, that she had smudged her makeup. Her bruises were visible.  
Stiles took her shoulders gently, but there was fury in his voice. “Who did this?”  
Lydia said nothing, but she couldn’t contain her sobs anymore, and she fell into Stiles, her face pressed against his chest. He stroked her back and her hair soothingly. “Hey, it’s going to be alright. I’ll kill them. I’ll fucking kill them.”  
Lydia just sobbed harder, and they stayed there. When the first customers started to arrive, Stiles took off his apron and drew Lydia out of the shop, leaving it unattended. He walked her to his Jeep and opened the door for her. She stared. “What are you doing?”  
“You’re coming home with me. And you’re going to live with me.”  
Lydia continued to stare. “What? No, I can’t stay with you, I have to go home-”  
Stiles cut her off. “It was your parents, wasn’t it?” The anger in his voice scared her, though it wasn’t directed at her. She just nodded.   
“Then it’s settled. You’re staying with me.”  
“Stiles, I can’t. What about your dad? And I have no money. It’s not fair to you-”  
He cut her off again, shouting this time. “You know what’s not fair to me? Knowing that the girl that I’ve loved since third grade is being beaten by her own parents and that she won’t let me do a thing about it! Now get in the Jeep. You’re staying with me.”  
All Lydia could seem to do was stare. “You love me?” She whispered.  
He sighed. “Yes, Lydia. I love you. I’m in love with you. Now please, please get in the Jeep.”  
She grabbed him and pulled him close, wrapping her arms around his neck, and she realised something. The reason she’d always found herself back at that coffee shop, why she seemed to find excuses to go back. “I love you too,” she whispered into his ear.   
He drew back, keeping his arms on her shoulders as he looked into her eyes. “What?”  
“I love you.”  
He drew her in, his lips touching hers tentatively, then more fiercely as he wrapping his arms around her. She kissed him back, running her fingers though his hair. Then he drew back, and pulled her close again, letting her rest her head on his shoulder.  
“It’s going to be okay.”


End file.
